#mysterious lover?

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

You're just not toxic enough.

[specsthesecond]

🃏👑🃏

You were married off to the king as a young noble woman. The arrangement was rather rushed in your opinion, not that anyone asked for it. The king only needed a show queen, a quiet but present symbol for the kingdom and you suited well enough for that.

He didn’t need a wife for pleasure, he had plenty mistresses for that and he seemed to be in no rush for a successor. You suspected it was because he had no intent to hand over power to anyone else anytime soon. Although, that's just what you assumed, others never blamed him for it. You were always the target of the hushed whispers and silent accusations of infertility, unruliness or even infidelity when it came to the subject of an heir.

The people's gossip aside, it was an easy marriage. You didn’t have to share a bed with a man you didn’t love and you didn’t have to raise his children. Many more deserving women would kill for such a life, which only made you feel worse about the utter discontent you felt. It was the loneliness, mostly. Such a privileged life and yet not a single companion in the world to share it with.

The king and his advisers only speak to you when they need you to make an appearance as queen. Their orders always dripping with condescension and near mockery. They’ve made you smile and wave for hours, waltz until your feet blister and recite a holy text’s worth of pompous poetry but this most recent ploy was particularly concerning.

You sit on your throne next to your husband, hands in your lap, staring at the colourful figure in front of you. The bells on his ridiculous hat jingle as he bows his head so low they almost touch the marble floor. Quiet chuckles emit from the nobility crowding the massive ballroom and the unease in your stomach only builds.

When the jester picks his head back up, you can’t help fiddling even more with your dress, just like your husband's advisers have scolded you not to. The jester silently stares with a sheet white face, big red grin painted across his mouth. You want to shrink under the jesters stare, the blue diamonds painted over his eyes make his gaze feel piercing.

The king grins when he catches your nervous gaze.

“Do you like your surprise, my love? I thought you could use some cheering up lately. As did my advisers.”

He chuckles, looking over at the old men in the corner of the room. They smile back, amusing in a joke you're not a part of.

You just nod your head as politely as possible. You don’t know what's happening, but whatever they have planned can’t be good.

The jester skips up to where you and the king sit. He gives an exaggerated curtsy to the king, earning a laugh from him and the various nobility.

The bells jingle as he springs back up and steps closer to you. He stretches his hand out, you stare at it and then back to your husband.

“The fool wants a dance, my dear. Give him a dance.”

You try to hide the apprehension on your face and reach for the jesters white glove-covered hand. He doesn’t squeeze or pull you up like you expected, instead he holds it gently, waiting for your next move. You rise from your throne and cast one more glance at your husband, who only offers a self-satisfied grin in return. This whole time all they've wanted from you is a perfect queen and now they want you to dance with a fool?

The jester walks you to the middle of the room, encircled by leering nobility. He places your hand on his waist before dramatically correcting the mistake and placing it on his shoulder instead, looking bashfully to the audience who snicker at the joke. He takes your other hand in his and gives you a little nod before the musicians starts playing and he guides you into step.

Now obviously you know very well how to dance, you enjoyed it quite a bit when you were little although, now it’s just become another part of your queenly duties. Did any of that even matter now? Now that it’s clear the king and his peers see you as just as much of a joke as the man you’re waltzing with.

Your deep thoughts are broken when said man unexpectedly twirls you in a dizzying circle. You flail slightly in your surprise but you’re brought back into his arms just as quickly to continue your steps. You fully focus on him now and you wonder what his features look like under that gaudy clown makeup. Even in the bright chandelier lights of the ball room, you can’t make out the colour of his irises. Earlier, you thought they were hazel but now it seems they're an impossibly dark brown.

The dark pools look as if they could swallow all the colour from his face and your own. Actually, has he blinked even once during this dance, or at all for that matter?

You’re not sure if it was your mistake or the jester’s but you step on his foot and he suddenly pulls away from you. He clutches his foot and jumps up and down in theatrical pain. The room bursts into laughter, bellows and cackles. These elite men and women delight in the humiliating performance you’re both putting on for them. It takes everything in you not to cave right there in the middle of it. Why are you being humiliated when you've done nothing wrong?

While the jeering continues, you try your best to steel yourself, replacing the need to cry with spiteful compliance. If they want a dance, they can have a dance.

You curtsy at the jester, offering an apology and hold your hand out to him. He looks around and then points to himself. You can’t help but smile and nod your head.

He takes your hand and when the music starts back up again, you step in time to the beautiful melody. You try and put your full attention on the jester, not anyone else in the large room, which proves to be quite easy as he is by far the most interesting person present. You can just make out the small smile under the red painted grin, his relaxed eyebrows under the bright blue diamonds, the crook of his pointy nose.

While moving in sync, you become almost lost in trying to map out his face under the make-up. You look for imperfections in the face paint but can’t seem to find a single smudge or brush streak, in fact the paint looks impressively even, like it’s a second skin.

It truly does feel like its only you two and the music, for the first time in a long time you feel wanted by someone else.

But when the king grows bored he demands new entertainment.

He motions for the musicians to stop their music and you’re brought back to reality. The jester bows for the crowd, he gestures to you and you offer a little curtsy before being escorted back to your throne. Form there, you watch the rest of the strange performers routine. He juggles an impressive amount of miscellaneous items, he folds himself into ridiculous positions, walks on his hands and generally makes a fool of himself for the crowd.

You watch in delight, though your husband doesn't seem as interested as he was before your little dance.

You think about the jester all the way back to your courters that night. You think about him as you slip on your night dress and slide into bed, and you think of him as you stare up at the ceiling for possibly hours. There is too much on your mind, the fun of watching the jesters performance has subsided and thoughts of what this means for your reputation and position in the court remain constant. A sigh leaves you as you lift yourself up and open the doors to your balcony.

You lean on the balcony ledge and stare out at the starry night sky, not even the strange jester can distract from the humiliation ritual you were just a part of. He could have been in on it for all you know and you're just naive enough to think he was being kind to you during the whole thing.

A shuffling sound from behind you makes you turn your head and it takes you just a split second to register the very colourful jester standing in the corner of your balcony.

The screech you let out is smothered by your own hand. You clutch the edge of the balcony, staring at the slender man who puts his hands up, waving apologies while moving his chest as if laughing, nothing comes out of his mouth. You clutch your heart, breathing quite heavily as you stare at him bewildered. You look around trying to discern where he could have come from, and how you only now hear his bells jingle as he waves his hands, still apologising.

He steps closer and stands tall in front of you, he’s much more imposing than you remember him being. He holds up one finger and then mimics a waltz. His head bows low and he holds his hand out for you to take. He’s asking for another dance but is there really much of a choice at all? Has this also been planned? If you say no, will he just leave? Do you want him to leave? The dance you shared was the most delightful time you've had in so, so long

You stare at him for a good while, he stays with his hand outstretched, bent over at a near 90 degree angle, not straining even a little. The longer you wait, the more uncomfortable you feel in his unwavering presence.

Against your better judgement, you reach out and touch his gloved hand. He curls his fingers around yours and stands upright. You let him bring your hand to his shoulder, place his hand on your waist and step closer. This time is different from the last time. Now it really does feel like his attention is only on you, not with the other guests, not with the performance. It should be frightening, but you find no malice in his eyes, no ridicule in his demeanor.

As he steps into motion, you begin a slow waltz in the small space of your balcony. It's slower than in the ballroom, it's more intimate. While you dance with this complete stranger, your thoughts run rampant, you second guess your judgement again and again. Maybe the kindness you sense from him is a ruse. Maybe he is here on behalf of the king, setting up another degrading show. He could even be an assassin, come to rid you quietly in the middle of the night.

You would deserve such a fate for giving in so easily. You slowly spin in his arms and this time you don't hear the snide laughs of the nobility, just the sounds of the night. Both of you step in time and you let him guide you to the edge of your balcony. You hold your breath as he dips you over the ledge. Your eyes squeeze shut and you let out what could be your last breath ready for him to let go and let you fall.

But he doesn't let go, your grip on his shoulders never slips. You open your eyes, a bit blurry from wetness but you can make out his face, because it's right in front of you even though you're bent over the balcony far enough that your feet have left the ground. You stare back at his unrelenting gaze. In the dim light of the moon his eyes look even darker than before and something new swims in the deep black of his pupils, something sad.

They are lidded as they examine your face, your entire being. His hand on your back presses your chest further into his until you're sure he can feel your rapid heartbeat through your very flesh.

He lifts you upright again, turning you away from the ledge and out of harms way. You’re still chest to chest, he’s so close but you can’t feel him breathe. Your wide eyes stare up at him, trying to discern his expression. Your breaths are short and your grip on him hasn’t let up a bit.

He brings his hands up to your cheeks, the warm fabric of his gloves on your cold cheeks has you easing into them far too easily. His eyes examine every inch of your face while his thumbs stroke your cheeks, you can just barely see the frown on his lips behind the painted smile. He brings your face closer to his, slow and methodical, making it very clear what his next move is. You’re not sure if this was due to his own hesitation or to give you time to pull away, regardless you let him inch closer and closer until his lips grazed yours and you finally feel him breathe out one long breath.

The kiss is deep. Despite being slow and gentle, it still forces a struggled breath from you. You would’ve thought he tasted like paint but he doesn’t, he’s warm and inviting. It’s nice.

Your eyes close, surrendering all hesitation to the stranger in your arms. Fingers dig into the fabric of his puffy striped sleeves as your body melts further into his. You quickly learn to breathe through your nose, out of necessity and unwillingness to part from his affections.

You let him work your mouth open, slipping his tongue inside. The feeling is so foreign, you can’t help but whine. The backs of his fingers flutter over your throat and you shiver.

His tongue fills your mouth, sliding along yours and savouring your taste. The wet muscle reaches far into your mouth, farther than you thought normal but your experience is slim and you don’t have the awareness to fully question it. It’s overwhelming. Your knees tremble and he lowers you both to the cold stone floor. His tongue reaches into your throat, a feat you know is impossible.

You’re too lost to even think of the implications of this, as you gag and convulse around the thick muscle in your throat that no longer feels like a normal tongue. He reaches so far, your eyes roll back, your lower region warms uncomfortably and you forget how to breathe. You tap his shoulders quickly, a plea for air, and he retreats from your throat. He holds you as you cough and heave, wiping the spit from your chin.

You look at him with the an expression full of shock and fear and bewilderment and every other emotion shooting through your fuzzy mind. His expression is hard to discern but he seems both amused and sad.

He stands and brings you up on shaky legs. When he starts to back away, you panic and clutch his hands tighter. You don’t know what you were hoping for. That he would stay? That he would spend the night with you?

His face is full of what you hope is longing and not pity, you know what pity looks like. He holds you close in what you know is a goodbye embrace. He presses his forehead to yours and he places one last short kiss on your lips. Its playfull and very much not what you’d consider a proper good bye kiss. You search his gaze and you’re met with rather boyish mirth, lifting your spirits slightly. Maybe this isn't goodbye then?

He winks at you and takes your hand, spinning you around once, twice and three times before he lets go. When you rebalance yourself and look around the balcony, there is no sight of the jester. It's just the pitying sounds of the night and your only other witness, the moon. Like he was never there at all.

[lichtrabbit]

*ೃ༄·:*¨༺ ♱✮meet me here? *✮♱ ༻¨*:·

[shyblacksheep]

“I want to lay like this forever, until the sky falls down on me…” [ X ] 🌟

[scribz-ag24]

treasure town played telephone with the story of how dusknoir joined grovyle's side and it's getting out of hand

[bringbavk2014]

Lover.

[secretidentie]

In his years of overseas training, Bruce started talking to an online penpal by the name of Kansascowboy32. They still talk for hours, sharing anicdotes and giving advice to this day. Although they've never met (because Bruce knows his identity as batman would be too at risk), Bruce considers this man one of his closest confidants and possibly the love of his life.

Of course he can never reveal this because he doesn't want to make the other man uncomfortable or get ghosted. So after an argument with Superman that makes him feel inadequate, he decides to pursue a more attainable mild mannered reporter, who would never reject Bruce Wayne, to get over his unrequited love.

The reporter in question, Clark kent, is forced to stay in Gotham for a month or two as he is researching a story focused on the criminals in the city's underground. It's during this investigation that he meet a rough around the edges rogue by the name of Matches Malone. After matches helps him not get caught snooping in a warehouse, Clark is so far gone that not even Bruce Wayne's flirting can't sway him.

Now Clark is aware how cleché he is by falling for the classic "criminal bad boy" but really Matches is a victim of circumstance with a heart of gold, and he's really nice when you get to know him and Clark can fix him really he can if they just spend more time together. Besides this is the first person he's had feelings for since his painfully unnoticed crush on batman (who definitely hates him) so after talking to his mysterious online best friend he decides it's time to move on.

While he's set on persuing Matches, Bruce Wayne's efforts to win him over don't go unnoticed. At the same time he's still hurts to let go of his feelings for batman. It's a good thing he has a best friend to talk him through it.

[leahaart]

[amburppp]

🫧 Tadpole Pond 🫧

[raayllum]

I would tell you that the vast mystery I travelled the world to find was contained in you all along.

[twistedappletree]

Look, I just think we as a fandom have not considered an alternative Hansry ending where Jitka is a lesbian, her and Hans are in a lavender marriage and have agreed to let each other do whatever the hell they please when it comes to lovers. Jitka gets to pursue all the beautiful lady knights and court damsels while Henry and Hans continue being grossly in love disaster bisexuals who go on way too many hunting trips. Everyone respects each other, nobody’s unhappy because they’re all getting what they want and nobody outside of their relationship can sabotage it because they’re all in agreement with the situation and can just laugh in their faces while being absolutely, unapologetically queer.

[hiccupshypotheticalleftsock]

today i offer sorvus textpost, as a treat. tomorrow? who knows

[tylersayscool]

[estrellami-1]

Steddie Week 2024 | Steddie Microfic

July 7th prompt: Free Space - Mystery, Hands, Long, Trade, Exes to Lovers or Getting Back Together, Drunken Confession (aka I combined all the prompts I didn’t use this week) | July prompt: one

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6

Word count: 1,111

No warnings apply

Rated T

@steddie-week | @steddiemicrofic

It was never a mystery, to Steve, how they got together. How they worked together.

The only mystery is how he managed to let him go—to lose him in a way Steve hadn’t understood until Eddie. Because Nancy was great, she was fantastic, Steve was in love. He doesn’t doubt that. But it never felt like it did with Eddie: low lights in the club, hands on each other’s bodies, open-mouth kisses that really was nothing more than them panting into each other’s mouths—

Stumbling into the bathroom, or into either of their bedrooms, hands in hair and under shirts and unbuckling belts—

Sleepy, slow morning kisses. Breakfast. Holidays.

How did it end?

Steve thinks, remembers fists clenched at sides, red faces, stiff shoulders.

Remembers shouted words, cold shoulders, slammed doors.

Remembers the key left on the kitchen counter.

That had done it, he remembers, he had called Robin, already sobbing, and she was on her bike and halfway there practically before she had hung up the phone. She’d held him as he fell apart on the kitchen tiles.

Then again, when he went to go to bed. Saw the two pillows. Threw one off; it hit the wall, slid down. Had to change the sheets; they smelled too much like him.

It took him a long time—a really long time—to get to the point he’d be okay on his own for more than a couple hours, to the point he could go out to clubs again. Not the same ones he’d gone to, never those, but… he moved on. Kind of.

He knew, and Robin knew, that part of him, at least, would always love Eddie.

It’s why when they’re in a club—a new one they had just found, okay music but better drinks and prospects—and Steve grabs her arm, she looks the direction he is.

He feels like he’s swallowing sandpaper. “His hair is longer.”

“It is.” She pries his fingers off, just so he’s not bruising her anymore, but holds his hand. “What do you want to do about it?”

“I don’t know,” he mutters, watches the way Eddie prowls through the crowd, smirking at people, but still definitely on his way to the bar.

The bar. “I’m gonna get us more drinks,” he says. They both ignore the fact that they’ve barely touched their current glasses.

“Let me know if you need backup.”

“Will do.” He looks at her, for the first time since seeing him, and smiles. “Love you, Robbie.”

She rolls her eyes, but smiles. “Love you, dingus. Go get your man back.”

Steve makes it to the bar before Eddie, asks for whatever is on tap. Looks away at the wall. Can’t watch him walk up. 

“Long Island,” he hears directly beside him, and turns to see Eddie turning to see Steve.

He takes a breath. “Eddie.”

Eddie looks… he looks good, because he always does, but he looks tired, maybe a little thinner. Not… not good, not happy like he was. He swallows. “Steve.”

The bartender hands over their drinks, and Steve takes a sip only to cough. “Sorry, fuck,” he mutters, finally looking at the glass in his hand. He’s got the Long Island, and Eddie’s got his beer.

Eddie’s watching him with an interesting little smile. “Trade?”

“Trade,” Steve agrees, nodding. He coughs again. “God, how do you like that?”

Eddie snickers, pulls a lock of hair over his face. Steve wishes he wouldn’t.

Miraculously, they keep talking. They’re never searching for the next word to make the silence go away because there is no silence.

Eventually Robin comes up to him, pulls him into a hug. “Imma go home with that girl,” she murmurs, pointing behind her. A cute, preppy-looking blonde smiles nervously at Steve. He smiles at her, then back to Robin. “Of course. Call the house, give me the address.” He kisses her forehead. “Have fun.”

“Oh, I will,” she grins, then turns to look at Eddie, eyes narrowed.

Eddie gulps. She grins, scary as anything, and whispers something in his ear that has him paling. “Yuh-yep. Yeah. Got it. Thanks Robin.”

Steve grimaces when she walks away. “What did she say?”

Eddie looks at him for a long minute. “Something I’ve known for a while now,” he eventually murmurs. 

It was inevitable, really, that they would end up back here, hands in hair and under shirts, stumbling into Steve’s apartment, panting into each other’s mouths, trying to undo buckles by memory because the worst thing in the world right now would be to stop kissing.

“God, Steve,” Eddie gasps, pulling him down the hall. “C’mon- c’mon, please, need you, need you-”

“Yeah,” Steve answers against his mouth, just as affected. He’s got his own pants halfway off, thinking about his shirt next, thinking about the lube in the drawer that hasn’t gotten as much action as it used to, and suddenly he aches for it. “Need you inside me,” he mutters, kissing down Eddie’s neck, stopping at a place behind his ear that he knows from experience makes Eddie’s knees weak.

“Fuck,” Eddie chokes out. “Yeah, yeah, c’mon, c’mon baby, lemme in you- lube’s in the drawer?”

Steve opens the drawer in answer, roots around until his fingers close on the bottle. Pushes it into Eddie’s hand, pushes him away so Steve can get naked.

Eddie’s eyes rake along his body. He drops his own pants just as fast, limbs flying as he strips out of his shirt too, clambering onto the bed beside Steve’s hip, eyes wide and fingers shaking as he lubes up.

It’s after, when everything’s cooling and drying and becoming itchy, that Eddie’s breath wobbles. “I shouldn’t,” he mutters into Steve’s shoulder. “Shouldn’t say anything. But hell if I don’t miss you like crazy.”

Steve closes his eyes, tries to keep the tears at bay. “You’re drunk.”

“I had less than one drink.”

The tears win. “We broke up for a reason,” he whispers. “Didn’t we?”

“I was scared,” Eddie says.

“And you’re not now?”

“Only of losing you.”

Steve sobs, can’t help it, but he feels Eddie’s hot tears on his neck, too, and that somehow makes it better.

It’s the next morning, after slow, sleepy kisses and breakfast, that Steve sighs. “I never stopped loving you. I don’t think I can.”

“I don’t think I can, either.”

Steve slowly turns to look at him. “So what does that make us?”

Eddie shakes his head. “I don’t know. All I know is it makes me yours.”

“Yours,” Steve parrots, daring to curl his fingers over Eddie’s, breath hitching when he holds on just as tight. “That sounds pretty damn good to me.”

[firstfullmoon]

Steve Scafidi, from “Ode to And”

[fumifooms]

"Marchil? I guess I can see it on Chilchuck’s end, but what about Marcille’s? What makes you think she could develop feelings for him?" I’m glad you asked!

The first thing to note is that she does think highly of him

In the page on the right, literally defending his virtues and literally comparing him to Dalclan. And oh…

She does love a brooding mysterious guy who closes himself to love. But surely, Chilchuck isn’t her type at all, right? He’s not princely or knightly at all. In apperances certainly not, both looks wise and demeanor wise, but then that’s why she seeks to know him on a deeper level, to not only look shallowly.

And hmm. Chilchuck really is quite selfless isn’t he? Always looking out for others, and saving specifically her often, always making sure himself and, staying in or even running towards danger for her sometimes. Modesty is often considered heroic…

And can we talk about that drowning one… You can definitely frame the special attention as him knowing she tends to hesitate or be clumsy, and then his insistance on pulling her out of danger that she’s the healer aka the most important to keep alive, but. From the one who says that he just keeps his ass out of fights and won’t help this is a lot of risk to take, and he does die trying to pull her to safety in the dungeon rabbits chapter. And the drowning bit??? That’s when the dungeon collapses. The only reason they DON’T die of drowning here is that the water then gives way to outside. There was NO hope of pulling her to safety here and resurrections would likely not work either, he truly preferred to die with her than try to survive himself.

Sit your ass back DOWN you are in no state, self-sacrifical hero much damn

And Marcille definitely noticed this imo, after all she loves learning all she can about him, remembering things like how he hates waiting on people too. She pays attention to him and what he does and what he says. This to say that it’s notable, whatever reason for it you may think (though we know by this point at least she was already aware he was an adult though it wasn’t internalized), out of everyone it’s Chilchuck’s bed that she wants to sleep in during the Golden Kingdom stay. He’s safe and comforting to her: dependable, the defining trait in her view of him as is shown by the relationship chart in the Adventurer’s Bible.

^ Lending handkerchiefs is a romance trope btw and handkerchiefs have irl history of being used for courting. Especially in old English literature and plays like Shakespeare’s Othello, and personally I do see a lot of Shakespeare in Dalclan (nobility political drama with some romance). There’s how his cowl is a dearly beloved souvenir from his family too, there’s a lot of aesthetic tropes you can apply to him.

All this to say you can 100% romanticize Chilchuck into a princely noble guy if you try and that’s exactly what Marcille does with the wife roleplay. She doesn’t need much in the first place, she latches onto crumbs and makes aesthetic narratives out of details, give her an inch she’ll take a mile.

But what’s interesting about the shift throughout the arc of her and his relationship is that she starts out idealizing him into a little angel of a kid (shapeshifter), and she ends it idealizing him as a virtuous husband and family man instead.

And what’s doubly interesting is that in the former, she’s actively warping who he is personality and demeanor wise to fit the aesthetic, he doesn’t have that bitter pride of not asking for help and the edges have been smoothened. But what she does during the wife roleplay is something else, she acknowledges the flaws and just… Accepts them, rolls with them. She’s aware of his flaws and implements them into the narrative, but the reason why his wife left doesn’t capitalize on them even, rather Chil is chilblivious and his wife loves him very much still, she’s just testing him after having had a night of feeling out of place at his side.

And this is what separates the idealization vs romanticization, she’s not twisting him into someone else she’s just uplifting what he is and focusing on the good sides.

Marcille: "he has a shitty personality sometimes but if he was my husband I’d still cherish him" "If I were your wife I’d be overjoyed to go out with you and would get myself prettied up while you complain about me taking a long time, your friends would tell me that I’m nice and that’d make me happy, but I’d also be sad because you wouldn’t tell me that you love me enough"

He’s angry and his wife left him, he’s *flawed*, but he’s still worth hyping up, still worth having his own romance story, still has a shot of winning back his beloved. She sees him for what he is, human and real and not a carefully scripted character that fits an aesthetic, and she thinks it’s still worthy of love and admiration and fighting for

And what’s funny too is that you might expect her to cool down on him once she learns more about him but actually she only gets increasingly into his business. You tell her your age and next thing you know you promise to introduce her to your family. Give her an inch she takes a mile. And too the thing is, Senshi is equally mysterious but she doesn’t pester him like at all, asks him ONCE about his succubus and he doesn’t even answer and that’s like… It. With Chilchuck it starts off innocently enough with her wanting to know his age, hometown, the stuff she mentions having asked pre-canon. But it just keeps and keeps going and escalating. Think she’ll be satisfied now knowing you have a wife and kids, maybe she’s disillusioned now? Wrong! She wants to know their names and ages and occupations and hey how did you propose to your wife? Do you think she’ll stop after meeting them? What’s next? What will she want to know next????

She’s… Like it’s not a reach that Marcille is all over him. Like it doesn’t mean it’s romantic but she just is. She is not normal about him idk. Can you not ask him about what tongue technique he used when first kissing his wife, give the man breathing room

Marcille could literally go "if I was Chilchuck’s wife" having deeply pondered and thought out the hypothetical and people would still ask where anyone sees any romantic potential between them. Oh wait

There’s a platonic explanation for everything (almost?) in Dungeon Meshi don’t say I’m saying otherwise, but it’s definitely not like there’s nothing here to read into lol

Going off a bit more under read bc it’s my fave topic

Marcille has a whole theme with the charming prince trope with her idealization and storybook motif and Chil is kinda the "Well someone perfect like that isn’t very realistic and romance is usually more complex and that’s ok and good and flawed people can still be ✨virtuous✨" catalyst

Do you see do you see she starts canon thinking the most romantic thing is a prince charming but her arc in the end has her romanticizing an average, flawed, real and realistic family man, who’s on the poorer side and is on the verge of divorce. And that’s what he needed, too, seeing the positive of himself and the situation instead of focusing on the negative is explicitly what inspires him to hope that he might be able to reconcile with his wife, gives him the courage and self-esteem to shoot his shot.

He IS a prince figure instead that now it’s not about idealizing the grand and overt it’s about romanticizing the small things in real life!! About finding joy and beauty in things that seem normal or mundane and uplifting them to make the world feel kinder!!!!

He’s the devoted virtuous man that she wantsss not the storybook prince that’s unrealistic and could crumble like a script at any time. He’s the perfect example of a flawed realistic but virtuous & devoted & loving man. Far from a prince charming, but not fully detached from it either. Something worth fighting for despite the flawed cracks. Like literally, flawed romance being worth fighting for is literally the finale of Chilchuck and Marcille’s arc on the matter, where their separate arcs and issues intersect at the most crucial moment.

Marcille is important to Chil’s arc not only because of her optimism, but also because of her interest and knowledge in romance & matters of the heart, and that’s what he needs to both open his heart up to hope and to try to reconcile with his wife, like idk sounds gay

Their arc together is literally learning to 1) see each other for how they are and not undermining their qualities capacities etc etc while still not leaving flaws unchecked either and 2) opening up to people. Marcille LITERALLY makes Chil open his heart up to hope like idk man. What do you want from me. He’s literally the guy helping her through deconstructing novels and fantasy and rose tinted glasses and like. Deconstructing the prince charming figure into something more real but still romantically beautiful like KUI KUI STOOOOP STOP I’M ALREADY HOOKED I’M ALREADY-

 Ok fine that’s me reading into the tropes too much forgive me for being storybook brained but like. Speaking his heart out to a lone woman on a balcony, Romeo and Juliette shit, asking if she, too, doesn’t want to meet his family, madly blushing. And like she’s learned with Chilchuck it’s all in the little things, all the implications he cannot speak aloud. She does reciprocate, does blush madly back, and the first thing she does is shower him in flowers and jewelry and what in her heart is coded as romantic gifts

A lady, stashed away in a high tower by her lonesome, waiting for someone to call out to her from below… Romeo courting type shit with an offer, a heartfelt spiel, implicit confession from underneath her balcony. Offering him flowers because he succeeded in calling out to her heart…….. And they have to climb to her too…. Crazy

Doesn’t it sound like a proposal. One that’s both so storybook-like and not, contrastedly real and grounded, all about the implications rather than in your face grand gestures, "Don’t you want to meet my family?". They literally have an arc about the topic of romance and this is the climax/pinnacle of it like god?? This is @ the woman who said "Chilchuck is a shy/bashful man so I know he wouldn’t tell me he loves me, but…" btw

To quote a friend, truly the shiny secret unlockable dating sim capture target : THE DUNGEON LORD BIT WAS SO FUNNY BECAUSE HE KNEW SHE'D TAKE IT HOOK LINE AND SINKER HES THE ONE WHO GOT HER TO TURN AROUND COMPLETELY SHES LIKE. WIDE EYED FLAG RAISED???? FLAG RAISED WITH CHILCHUCK 👀👀👀‼️👀👀‼️👀

And the way that this is the culmination of their arc together… Like people are not ready for the ‘Chil calling out to dunlord Marcille on the balcony has Romeo and Juliette romance novels imagery’ take. Or the ‘their arc is about growing to see beauty even in the non-idealized, in the flawed and in the real’ take which makes it so so perfect if she were to lower her ideal from a charming elven prince to a virtuous halfling man (which she does end up romanticizing)

So there, you got to witness in real time what happens when I think about marchil for longer than 2 minutes, there are so many layers it’s a deranged rabbithole. I saw the necronomicon of subtext and it’s driving me to madness with forbidden knowledge that no one else sees

……. Like what if I told you she implicitly picked Chilchuck over a "unrealistic prince charming who’s actually disingenuous" much earlier in the story already. If she was given the choice to think through going with a guy that seems perfect and chivalrous like her succubus she’d pick Chilchuck over the other actually. If I sound insane rn tune in for my full analysis on them coming this month hopefully thank youu. Interwoven arcs of fantasy vs reality and idealization vs pessimism I love youuu

So now you know the general thesis of my planned analysis about the importance of the prince charming figure in Marcille and Chilchuck’s arc, where she romanticizes things to a sometimes worrying degree or idealize people into something easy and digestible and poetic (like Chil being a kid, and then him being a virtuous ✨✨✨husband), and how she needs to value aesthetics less and actual acts and facts more, be more grounded (like seeing people for what they are flaws and all, and accepting that people need money and not pulling through on principles of honor or unity shouldn’t get Namari shamed) and a part of that is accepting that Chilchuck is BOTH flawed and virtuous, a loving husband that still has shitty moods and fumbled his marriage so bad etc etc. So it’s like, her image of perfect prince charming that will whisk you away on an ethereal romance -> realistic flawed middle aged dad with personality issues and a failing marriage but he still is worthy of love and having his cute grand romance story and his happy ending. Ik I keep repeating the same point through this but I need it to be burned into everyone’s brains it has its grip on me I can’t do this. They are so special……